Professor Elena Viktorovna Moshnyaga always said one thing to her students in Moscow: “Intercultural communication does not live in books. It lives in people. “Anastasia believed her. Or at least she wanted to.
So, when Elena told her about the short cultural stays across Europe, Anastasia longed for the same experience. One day she packed her small suitcase, zipped her black notebook inside, and left behind the cold Moscow streets she knew too well.
She chose to explore the South Asian “Dissimilar Others,”. She booked a ticket to Lahore.
The moment she stepped out of the airport, the world changed around her.
Warm air.
Cheerful noise.
People smiling freely at strangers.
It felt like stepping out of a long Russian winter straight into someone’s heartbeat.
The family who hosted her welcomed her with open arms. Naseema Aunty hugged her before Anastasia even had time to process anything.
Russians did not hug like this.
Not so fast.
Not so close.
But Aunty’s arms were warm, and Anastasia let herself stay still for a moment.
“Chalo beta, roti Khana hai,” Aunty said. Then tea with milk and cardamom.
Anastasia looked at the curry the way one looks at a small puzzle.
How to drink it? What to do? Should she stir it? Should she sip slowly?
Aunty misunderstood her silence.
She thought Anastasia disliked curry. Anastasia misunderstood Aunty’s worried eyes.
She thought she had offended her. Both smiled, very gently, trying not to trouble the other.
That night, Anastasia wrote in her notebook: “Warm house, warm people, warm tea. I don’t know what I am doing, but they make it easy to try.”
The children loved her from the first day. They sat on the rug and asked her a thousand questions.
“Is Moscow very cold?”
“Do people really not smile?”
“Do you have snow fall every day?”
She showed them a snowfall video from the backyard of her “Dacha”. They were amazed like they entered an unknown world.
A small boy whispered, “This looks like fairy tales.” For the first time since arriving, Anastasia smiled without thinking. Later aunty pulled her into the kitchen. “Come, let me show you how we make roti.”
Anastasia tried her best.
Her roti came out shaped like the Kremlin tower. But Aunty clapped loudly, laughing. Anastasia laughed too — a soft, surprised laugh she hadn’t heard from herself in months.
She told Aunty about Russian bread. About soups in long winters. About how people in Moscow kept to themselves, talking softly, moving quietly. Aunty listened like she was collecting new colors for a picture she had never painted before.
There were awkward moments as well. One afternoon, Anastasia walked into the prayer room wearing shoes. The room froze. She froze. Something was wrong — she could feel it.
My uncle explained later with a kind smile. She apologized in a small voice. Uncle said “No no, you should not be sorry. You are our guest”. For Anastasia learning continued, like it always does when hearts are open.
By the fourth day, the house began to feel familiar. She folded her bed sheet every morning with Russian precision. She said “shukriya” naturally now. She wrote children's names in Russian letters, and they wrote her name in Urdu. She laughed and said “molodets”
On the last evening, Aunty wrapped a thin embroidered shawl around her shoulders.
“For you beti,” she said. “So, you don’t forget us.”
Anastasia didn’t cry. Not there. Not in front of everyone. She wanted to keep some emotions for quiet places. But in the taxi, as the house grew smaller in the window, her eyes softened. A warm tear slipped down — slow, honest, simple.
She recorded a message for Professor Elena Viktorovna:
“You were right my dear queen of Intercultural communication that “Intercultural communication is beyond listening to three hours of lectures at Staraya Basmannaya. It is a mistake, a shared roti, a child’s question, a hug you don’t expect.”
She instantly got the reply “Atheistic Humanistic sends you a warm blessing, all the way from Moscow’s cold.
Anastasia touched the shawl and felt its warmth. It reminded her that culture is learned through small moments, not explanations. The kindness she received in Lahore stayed with her. It made Moscow and Lahore feel closer. She finally understood that intercultural communication lives in everyday human gestures.